


just keep on doing what you do

by adolescentcanine



Category: Inazuma Eleven, Inazuma Eleven GO
Genre: M/M, au where holy road doesnt exist, hot damn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 04:29:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3882349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adolescentcanine/pseuds/adolescentcanine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fudou is anything but conventional. Kidou is suspicious, and Genda is ambivalent. Sakuma just wants to get through this party in peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just keep on doing what you do

**Author's Note:**

> AU where the Holy Road didn't exist. i.e., Raimon and Teikoku are regular rivals, and seeds are just something you plant in the ground. Wrote this for my best friend who's away currently. Come home soon!

At 6:15, the alarm goes off.

Fudou doesn’t believe in alarm clocks, and as such, he just pulls his pillow over his head and groans. Sakuma slowly wakes up and rubs his eyes before reaching over, grabbing it, and promptly tugging it out of the wall.

There are less violent ways to stop an alarm clock, but Sakuma is not in a good mood. 

Fudou’s apartment is, frankly, a mess. The bedside table, if it can even be called that, is an old army trunk he found at a garage sale, or maybe on the side of the road. Sakuma, through years of experience, has learned ‘at a garage sale’ can mean anything from an actual garage sale to ‘stolen out of someone’s moving vehicle’. Sakuma narrowly avoids banging his knee against it as he gets out of bed, but stubs his toe on a stack of books piled randomly anyway.

He curses. Fudou doesn’t even read, so this is probably his fucked up way of punishing Sakuma for having a life. 

Fudou himself is lying in the sheets, simple beige organic cotton, and from this side of the bed, he looks almost alluring— his crooked shoulder blade sticking up in the air, hair over his face, sheets barely covering his ass.

So, of course, Sakuma shoves him out of bed. 

“Oh my god,” Fudou grumbles, not one to be woken easily, “What the fuck?”

Sakuma is already across the room, trying to pull a pair of socks from Fudou’s sock drawer. Sock basket? Sock trough? Whatever this thing is — it’s just a basket, really, some old wicker thing he bought for five bucks on a car trip down to Nagoya last year. Socks are easier to find than shoes, because god knows where Fudou threw them last night. 

“Good morning,” he says, dryly, and finds one underneath a pair of underwear. 

“Morning?” It isn’t a greeting. 

“Yes, morning.” Sakuma finds his shirt behind the hamper — could it even be called a hamper? It was an old suitcase, vintage with peeling leather and a dozen faded stickers. But it was where Fudou threw his dirty clothes. Eventually, anyway. He puts one shoe on before realizing that he isn’t wearing pants. Where are his pants? “Are you getting up?”

“Nope.” Fudou pops the ‘p’, though he pulls himself back into bed. “Where are you going so early?”

“Some of us,” Sakuma says, “are productive members of society and go to work. Daily, even.”

He finds his other shoe under the bed, just barely, and his pants hanging off a chair where they were thrown. 

“That alarm of yours is fucking terrible.” Fudou grumbles, and pulls the covers back up. His body is narrow, bony underneath lines of hard-earned muscle from soccer and other more violent activities, splattered with scars, bruises, tattoos. The scars are long-term investments, the bruises recent reminders of time well-spent. The tattoos are impulse purchases. The skull of a penguin on his hip, something in English down the right side of his ribcage. Sakuma was never good at English studies. “Ha. Are you staring?”

“Not really,” Sakuma replies. He tugs his pants up, runs his hands through his hair. He hates going to work after a night at Fudou’s, hates showing up at a middle school looking like a recent fuck. 

“Riiiight.” Fudou yawns. Sakuma makes a face— he’s sure Fudou’s breath smells awful. “Shit, why do you get up so early?”

“It’s not that early.” When Sakuma was in middle school, he would have to wake up at at least 5:30 to get dressed and walk to Genda’s before walking all the way to Teikoku, which neither of them lived near. Now Sakuma drives, but Fudou lives on the other side of Tokyo, and morning soccer practice starts at 7:00. Sakuma himself lives only a short train ride from Teikoku, but he’s been spending more and more time in this messy apartment. Sometimes, the pillows even smell like him. “Do you need a ride? I can give you one if you hurry—“

“My shift doesn’t start until twelve,” Fudou mumbles. He sounds like he’s falling back asleep. “I’ll be fine. Walk, or steal a bike, or something.”

“Oh.” Sakuma pulls on a sweatervest over his white buttonup. It was spring, so perhaps a bit too warm for the sweatervest, but Sakuma doesn’t trust the visual cleanliness of this shirt. In reverse, he’d slept in it, been fucked in it, eaten in it, gone to work in it, put it on yesterday morning, at 6:00am sharp, the light of the morning shining in his eye as he tried in vain to make his new rice cooker work. It had been a curious journey for this shirt, and Sakuma is positive the front is wrinkled or stained or something, and the sweatervest will cover that up. Hopefully.

Maybe he could steal a shower in the locker room. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“I can come over for lunch,” Fudou interrupts his visual surveillance of the shirt. “We can go get that tofu shit you like so much.”

Sakuma sighs. Fudou was very open about the his dislike of the other’s new vegetarian diet, but at least he was trying. 

“My lunch break is only half an hour,” like Fudou wasn’t well aware. 

“I’ll come by the school, then.” Fudou shrugs. Sakuma sighs and sits down on the bed, where Fudou drapes his bare legs over his own. 

“That’s not really going to work out.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Fudou nips at his ear and down to his jawline. “What’re you doing tonight? I don’t have plans.”

“Ah, we have a game party.” Sakuma leans into his touch, closing his eyes. He still hasn’t put on his eyepatch. It was nice, just this, sometimes. “You know, we won against—“

“Raimon. You said, you said.” Fudou rolls his eyes and rests his jaw against Sakuma’s shoulder. “Big rivals, big deal. Congrats.”

“You could be more happy about it,” Sakuma huffs and presses a kiss to Fudou’s head. “I’ll see you sometime soon, alright?” 

“Uhuh.” Fudou flops backwards, legs sliding off Sakuma’s as he stands. “Have fun at work. I’ll call you if I get bored.”

“Don’t call me,” Sakuma grumbled, tugging his hair back in a ponytail. “I’m working.”

“Fine, whatever. I won’t.”

Sakuma stood in the doorway. This was always the most awkward part of their whole ‘arrangement’. How do you say bye to things like this?

“Love you, or whatever.” Fudou grumbles. Sakuma swallows.

“Yeah, um. I know. Thanks.”

“Welcome. Bye.”

Sakuma flees.

—

His office is in the upper levels of the soccer building. Even before soccer became more popular, Teikoku was well known as the master team and, as such, had an entire establishment built for the sport. Although Kidou is the master strategist, Sakuma is a close second. Besides, Kidou has had his hands full with training the team recently. 

So, Sakuma has a little office for himself. It’s cozy and well clean, and is sometimes a second home to him during tournament season. After morning practice is over and his team has gone to their classes, he retreats to the tiny room and shuts the door.

The moment he sits down, however, the door opens.

Sakuma sighs. Kidou has never been one to knock.

“Jirou, we have to talk.”

Sakuma nods and ignores the trill of excitement. Jirou. They’ve been using their first names since high school, but it still makes him smile every time he hears it.

God, he is so in love.

Kidou sits down across from Sakuma, and it would almost look like a professional if Kidou wasn’t slouching, just the tiniest bit. No one but those who knew him best would notice, and that makes Sakuma proud.

“Who are you sleeping with, these days?”  Sakuma is suddenly glad he hadn’t made any coffee. He would have spat it all over his desk.   “What?”

“Oh, I can tell.” Kidou gives him as much of a smile as Kidou usually gives. “I know you think you’re clever, hiding those marks with your hair and your collar —“

Sakuma self-consciously put a hand over a red-and-purple splotch on his neck. Kidou nods once like this has proven something to him, somehow. 

“— and I just want you to be happy, you know that. I’m just curious.”  Just curious. Sakuma swallows the lump in his throat — he knows Kidou is aware of Sakuma’s… crush. He knows, and Kidou has already turned him down. But part of him, the bright eyed child constantly trying to cling to a red cape, wants there to be more than… this. This reason. Just curious. 

A few days after Sakuma’s tearful confession, Kidou had offered to help him sign up for some dating website. It had hurt, just a bit, more than anything. 

“Just…. someone.” Sakuma mumbles. Kidou also knows about Sakuma’s… problem. The I’m-Only-Attracted-To-Men problem. Japan itself isn’t caught up with the times, yet, and Sakuma is sometimes jealous of the West, if only because in some places, you could introduce your partner to your coworkers and not be afraid of being fired. Kidou knowing about it doesn’t make Sakuma want to talk about it more often. Honestly, talking about his romantic life in general is a sore spot. What is he supposed to say?

Hi, Kidou, I’m madly in love with you, not just any guy, and also our childhood rival plugs me up the ass three times a week! Now, let’s go out for a beer. 

“Someone?”  “Someone.” Sakuma repeats, and Kidou’s lips thin out and purse. 

“…Does he treat you well?” Kidou finally asks, and Sakuma relaxes. At least he hadn’t asked to be introduced. That wouldn’t end well, not for anyone. 

Then he thinks about the question. Fudou doesn’t treat him bad, really, or like much of anything. It’s not like they go out to the movies or on dates, or do anything more romantic than arguing over cold noodles and tea. 

Kidou clears his throat, and Sakuma’s eye snaps back to him.

“…Yes, he treats me well.” Sakuma tells him, and though Kidou doesn’t seem satisfied, he nods again. 

“That’s good. I’m glad,” is all he says to that, and then they move on to planning the party that night. Something heavy, like a stone or something thicker, settles in Sakuma’s stomach and makes it hard to breath. 

—

(Later that day, Sakuma subs for Mr. Higashi, whose wife is on maternity leave. Some of his soccer students were in his literature class, and the way they look at him and snicker tells him they know. Middle school students know about sex, of course, but that doesn’t make him feel any better. He’d rather them not know he has it.)

—

Teikoku parties are by invite only. Sakuma thinks this is ridiculous, because making the guest list was always a pain, and making invitations was just obnoxious. 

“Kazemaru Ichirouta.”

He’s looped Genda into this, of course, because the other man likes have a steady job, and University is out for the spring. Not that Genda minds, because he liked spending time with Sakuma, and any time was good time. Even if it involves making guest lists. 

“Got it.”

Sakuma leans back on the couch, groaning. 152 guests. It was a bit much for a We-Beat-Our-Big-Rivals-Take-That party, but it kind of doubles as a The-Soccer-Season-Is-Staring party, so that worked. Genda is sitting on the other side of the couch, holding a clipboard with the guest list taped to it. 

“Why is Kazemaru invited?” Not that Genda means anything mean by this. Kazemaru has his own team to coach, some high school team with terrifying speed and ferocity. But he makes his time for his old middle school team, probably out of pity, or guilt over the Dark Emperors Incident. Or because Endou Mamoru was coaching now, which Sakuma thought was more likely. 

“He helps out sometimes,” Sakuma says, chewing on the cap of his pen. “And, you know, this is more of a get together with old teammates.”

“Is it?” This is the first time Genda’s heard that. 

“Uh huh.” Sakuma runs a hand through his hair, tugging it out of its neat ponytail. Genda looks away. “You’re invited too. Did you RSVP?”

Genda blinks at him. “Am I? I didn’t get an invitation.”

Sakuma makes a face. Fudou was supposed to deliver it. “Yeah, you are. Just write your name down, it’s fine.” 153, then. 

“Alright.” There’s a long silence as Genda scribbles down his name, and then sets his pen down. “Are you still with Fudou?”

Sakuma throws his hands in the air. “Why is everyone suddenly interested in my love life? First Yuuto, then half my soccer team, and now you. Who else is going to ask? Your cats?”  “Bertha doesn’t know about romance.” Genda tells him, petting said cat. She’s been rubbing against his legs for the past ten minutes, staining his pants with calico-colored fur. “But I’m sure she’s also wondering why you’re with him when—“

“Fudou is fine,” Sakuma interrupts. He’s been with Fudou for about four years now, in the loosest sense of the word. He spends three nights a week at his apartment, most of it in bed with the brunette, and leaves every morning without breakfast. They go out for ramen maybe once a month, if only for Fudou to wonder aloud how in the hell Hibiki was still alive and kicking. Sakuma was honestly surprised the man still served them. 

“Fine?”

“Fine.”

Genda pauses. “…I’m worried about you, I think.”

Sakuma raises his eyebrows. His eyepatch is hanging around his neck. It isn’t something he wears around close friends, and by close friends, he means Genda. 

“Worried?”

“Well,” Genda taps his fingers against the clipboard. Nervous habit. “You and Kidou. You and Fudou. Fudou is just a substitute, right?”

Sakuma isn’t sure he likes how Genda is putting this, but how else could he? He knows it. Fudou knows it. Part of Sakuma wishes he wasn’t so okay with it.  
 “Well…”

That’s all the answer Genda needs. He nods, once.    
“You’ve been together four years, right? Is it really a good idea to keep doing this?” He pauses, like he’s waiting for Sakuma to answer. Sakuma doesn’t, of course, so Genda continues. “You have to move on from Kidou sometime. Are you sure Fudou is really just a replacement? Is this a good idea?”

Sakuma is quiet. Genda gives good advice, but… He’s fine with how things are. Really. He is.

“Today he said he loved me,” he blurts out, instead, and immediately wants to kick himself in the knee. 

Genda nods again. “See? Exactly. I don’t think he sees this as just a… mutual sex relationship anymore. I mean, he got you a christmas present this year, didn’t he?”

Fudou did, indeed, get him a christmas present. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a gift card to some new store in the main shopping strip. But it stood out to Sakuma in the way that Fudou never got anyone presents, least of all him. He’d gotten Genda a can of cat food once, mostly sarcastically. Genda’s cats didn’t eat wet food, and Fudou knew that. 

“…Yes.” Sakuma finally says, and the stone in his stomach shakes. He wants to leave, suddenly, but Genda’s gaze is trapping him on the couch. Also, Bertha has relocated himself in his lap. Maybe they’re working together, he thinks almost viciously. 

“You need to talk this out,” Genda tells him, “I know you both hate talking, but it’s going to become unhealthy for the both of you.”

“It’s fine,” Sakuma tells him, petting Bertha between her ears. She starts to purr. “Everything’s fine. 

—

Fudou calls Sakuma as he’s leaving Genda’s house. 

“I thought I told you not to call,” Sakuma mumbles, cradling the receiver between his ear and his shoulder as he struggles to find his keys in his not-purse. 

“Yeah, you did.” Fudou’s eating something, chewing loudly in his ear. Sakuma makes a face and finally pulls out his keys.    
“Whatever,” Sakuma finally says, “What do you want?” 

Fudou finishes chewing and swallowing, and Sakuma slips into his car, shuts the door, and starts it. He almost drops the phone when Fudou finally talks.

“Just calling to say I’ll seeya tonight! You know, party hard.”

“What?” Bad idea, very bad idea. Sakuma is immediately fumbling for the guest list. 

“Yeah,” Fudou drawls and takes another bite of… whatever. Probably chips or something. “Everyone from Inazuma Japan got invited, duh.”

Sakuma ignores his tone and runs through the guest list. Fudou’s name is at the very bottom, written in Kidou’s neat kanji. 

He feels like he’s going to throw up.

“You didn’t tell me this before?” he manages, and Fudou laughs. 

“Sometimes it’s easier to tell you shit when you can’t shove me off the couch.”

Sakuma wants to disagree, but Fudou has a point.

“Anyway, I’ll be on my best behavior.” Fudou’s eye roll is apparent in his tone. “What do you think I’ll do, anyway? Go up to that goalie you’re so fond of and be like, hey, did you know your coach’s favorite thing is to be on his hands and knees and—“

Sakuma hangs up and presses his forehead against his wheel. This is ridiculous.

—

The party itself is in Kidou’s house. Sakuma finds this extravagant and unnecessary, and Fudou says that it’s probably Kidou’s way of flaunting his wealth, before Sakuma leaves him with a scoff in the parking lot.

They can’t walk in together. This he tells Fudou, who says he’d go to McDonalds ‘or whatever. I bet they have better food than this dump’ in a kind of upset way. 

Sakuma doesn’t tried to be late, or even fashionably late, but when he walks in it seems that everyone had gotten there very early. Or he is very late. He doesn’t get to think about it much before Miyabino finds his way to his side. 

“Hi, Coach.”

Miyabino is tiny, though his hair makes him look larger, and he has a habit of sneaking up on people. He’s a nice enough boy, though, and a really good goal keeper. Sakuma has told Kidou that he should have been captain, before Kidou always reminds him that, though Miyabino is popular enough with his teammates, he’s a bit of a suck up and not very good with crowds. 

“Hi, Miyabino. Is everyone here already?”  It’s strange seeing his students out of both soccer uniform and school uniform. Miyabino himself is just wearing a button up and slacks, like most everyone else, but it was still a little jarring. 

Miyabino looks around, putting his hands in his pockets. “I think so. At least, Sasaki and Itsumi are. We came together. I think the others are in the back yard.” He gives Sakuma a smile. “Coach Kidou set up a buffet back there, too.”

Of course he did. Sakuma had planned just enough food for 152 - now 154 - people, and then Kidou had tripled it. It makes sense that all the food won’t fit in one room. 

Rarely is Sakuma so blessed with anyone being so happy to see him, but that doesn’t make him any better at small talk, and after talking about grades, and soccer, and Miyabino’s new little sister, the first year wanders off to find his friends and leaves Sakuma alone. He’s still in the foyer, but he isn’t able to go any farther before the door opens up behind him again, and he turns to greet the new guests. 

Natsumi and Mamoru Endou stand there, both holding platters and looking vaguely uncomfortable before Endou spots Sakuma and grins. Natsumi gives him a small smile and a nod, and Sakuma steps forward to shake Endou’s hand. Endou skips hand shaking all together, giving Sakuma a large bear hug before stepping back. He looks the same as always (Sakuma last saw him a week ago, at the game), tan and muscular and bright. 

“Sakuma, hi! How’ve you been?” He says, barreling on before Sakuma can open his mouth. “Natsumi brought takoyaki. She cooked them all by herself! Isn’t that great!”

The warning in Endou’s eyes and the stress on his words says no, it isn’t great, but Sakuma smiles and nods. 

“Thanks, Natsumi. Just put it on the buffet table with everything else.” 

Natsumi smiles again and pats Sakuma on the arm as she passes, heading off to place her hell-wrought food with the other, store-bought edibles. 

“I tried to stop her, I really did.” Endou’s voice drops into a conspiratorial murmur. “But, you know, she tries so hard to be a good house wife… or something…”

Sakuma nods like he understands, like he’s ever had a normal relationship in his life. “You tried your best. That’s all that matters.”

“Only Tenma knows how bad it really is,” Endou sighs. He shakes his head, almost like he’s mourning something. “I’ll have to warn the others.”

“Oh, it can’t be that bad,” Sakuma starts to say, but Endou gives him a level look like no, you really have no idea. 

Sakuma is, again, really not good at small talk, but Endou talks enough for the both of them. He ends the conversation a good twenty minutes later when Natsumi comes back with a friendly, yet threatening, “Well, we’ll get you next time!”

“As if,” Sakuma laughs, but he’s sure they will. Endou’s team grows at a frightening pace. 

—

He finds Genda by the fireplace, pointlessly pushing grapes and cheese around on his plate. 

“Don’t eat the takoyaki,” Sakuma says as greeting, and Genda nods.

“I know. Endou warned me.”

There’s a comfortable silence, and then,

“Fudou’s here.”

Sakuma groans. “He said he was going to McDonalds.  
 “He snuck in through the back. Kidou found him climbing over the fence.”

Oh, of course he did. 

“Well, this is nice.” Genda decides. “Your old crush, the man you’re sleeping with as a replacement for your old crush…”

“Who put you in a bad mood?” Sakuma snapped, glaring down at his wine glass. This was stupid. He just wanted this party to go well, and of course Fudou had to come, and now the takoyaki was poisoned. 

Genda just shrugged. “Sorry. But it’s the truth. You need to work this out.”

“Well, a party is by far the worst place to ‘work this out’.” Sakuma points out, taking a drink of wine. It burns his throat on the way down. “So maybe tomorrow.”

“Maybe never,” Genda corrects him, then runs a hand through his hair. “…I have a girlfriend.”

“Do you?” Sakuma’s surprised. 

“Yeah. She’s not coming, but her name’s Seung. Aphrodi introduced us.” Genda sighs and eats a piece of cheese. “She’s from Gangneung.”

“Economic center of Gangwon…” Sakuma mumbles as he finishes off his wine. “Well, I’m happy for you.”

“Are you?” 

Sakuma meets Genda’s eyes. Genda’s always known him better than anyone, known everything about him. It’s a bit unnerving, sometimes. 

“Yeah. I am.” Sakuma tells him, then sighs and steals a grape off Genda’s plate. “Wish I had a… well, you know.”

“Fudou,” Genda points out, and Sakuma shoots him a glare. “Look, I’m just saying that you need to talk. Four years is a long time.”

“It isn’t,” Sakuma tells him as he walks away. “Not really.”

—

Rather than hang out with Midorikawa and Hiroto, who call for him as he passes, introduce him to their adopted son (who looks like he’d rather swallow hot nails than be here), he chooses to hang back and sip wine, observing the party from afar. The adopted son, Kariya, escapes his dad’s grasps and runs to a purple haired forward. 

“What’s up,” Fudou asks, approaching him.

From the periphery, Sakuma had been aware that someone vaguely resembling Fudou had been narrowing in. But Sakuma was good at distracting himself, and Kariya (who was now teasing a boy with pink hair — Kirigo? Kiriko?) made a good distraction. 

“You’re a psychopath.” Sakuma mumbles, chewing on his lip. 

Fudou grins and shakes his head. 

“I played soccer with you guys, too,” he says, “I have just as much of a right to be here as anyone else.”

“This is just a sick game to you.” Sakuma accuses, and Fudou’s eyes narrow, just a bit.

“You should move in.”

“No.”

“What, are you too busy daydreaming about Kidou to even bother?”

Sakuma’s eye narrows. “We’re at a party, Fudou.”

“Oh, because there’s so much to fucking celebrate.” Fudou’s words were harsher than sarcasm. “You spend three nights a week with me. It’s fun hanging out at your apartment, jacking off to some guy who won’t ever love you, yeah?”

“Shut up,” Sakuma glares at the shorter man. “You don’t know anything.”

“You’re a whore, Jirou.” Fudou spits, and Sakuma rolls his eye.

“I’m not a whore.”

“Not literally. Not for money.”

Fudou walks away. Sakuma’s angry, wanting to pick up a chair or one of Kidou’s stupid potted plants and clock Fudou in the head with it. It wasn’t so much the things he said that pisses Sakuma off so much — just the idea that they could fight, arguing over the very principle of their relationship, in a room full of people they grew up with and middle schoolers, and Fudou doesn’t even seem that bothered. 

When Sakuma finds him again, about a half hour later, Fudou is tipsy and talking to Kidou. This, of course, was actually the one thing he wanted to avoid. but Kidou beckons to him and forcefully drags him into the conversation.

“It’s pretty nice, I guess,” Fudou is saying, waving a hand in dismissal. He doesn’t seem to notice Sakuma was brought in. “Everyone’s fine, as fine as it is at a gas station. I’m like, the youngest there. Not even a crackhead. It’s great.” 

“I see.” Kidou nods. “Have you thought about coaching soccer? You still play, don’t you?”

Fudou makes a face, and Sakuma looks down. They’ve had this conversation.

“Like I wanna watch a bunch of snot nosed brats run around a field. I don’t even like soccer that much.”

That’s a lie. Well, at least the second part is. Sakuma knows very well how Fudou feels about kids, even kids in middle school.

“Well, you could be like Kazemaru,” Kidou tries. Kazemaru is currently talking to Endou and Natsumi and looking increasingly miserable. Kidou means to say that Fudou can coach high school, much like Kazemaru does, but Fudou takes it — or turns it around into — the wrong way.  
 “Oh, I think Sakuma is much more like Kazemaru than me,” he drawls, shooting Sakuma a crooked smile. “I mean, Kazemaru is waaaay into Coach Endou, isn’t he?”

Sakuma suddenly wants to run away, back to his car, and back to his own apartment, and burn everything Fudou has ever given him. Which is, admittedly, not that much.

“…I suppose.” Kidou says, confused on where this is going.

“Well, the game went okay!” Sakuma tries, desperately, to change the subject. “I think our team is really building, and Fudou can come in and help them kick—“

“What, you want me around now?” Fudou ruins everything, again, and Sakuma imagines punching him for a very brief moment. “Isn’t the whole reason you never let me come around Teikoku is so that you don’t have to—“

“Don’t you even dare—“

“—compare me to your stupid crush?”

It’s out there, and everything feels like it’s melting away. Sakuma wants to die, imagines it, vividly, and Kidou slowly raises his eyebrows. He isn’t wearing his goggles right now, and Sakuma wishes he was. That way, he wouldn’t have to see Kidou’s eyes. 

“I see.”

Sakuma escapes. 

—

Leave it to Kidou, of course, to follow. 

Sakuma wants to stab himself in the eye. 

“Jirou,” he starts, and Sakuma grumbles, “Don’t call me that.”

Kidou pauses.

“Jirou,” he repeats, because Kidou is an asshole, “We need to talk.”

“No, we don’t,” Sakuma tells him with a firm voice, like he wasn’t just crying like a baby on Kidou’s balcony. 

“We do.” 

Kidou sits down on one of those ridiculous deck chairs he’d bought when he inherited the house, just because Endou told him to, and if Sakuma thinks about the meaning behind that his head will start to hurt. It’s already starting to hurt, because his life is falling apart around him and everything is ruined and —

“You’re overthinking things.”

Sakuma is yanked out of his thoughts (because he was) and shakes his head (because he will never admit to that). 

“Listen,” Kidou murmurs, “I think I let you down too easy. I just… I want you to be happy, Jirou. And I’m sorry I can’t be that person. But I don’t love you. I don’t think I ever could.”

It had never occurred to Sakuma, in all the unfairness and hollowness he had seen in the world, that anyone who claimed to be one of his best friends could be so impossible and willful and unknowingly cruel.

“I like you, though.” Sakuma whispers. “And I know you like me.”

“Not in that way,” Kidou clarifies. He tugs on one of his dreadlocks, thoughtfully. “We’re friends, Jirou. You’re one of my best friends. But I don’t like you in that way.”

Sakuma buries his head in his hands. This isn’t fair. He just wanted this party to go by well, but of course Fudou had to—

“Fudou likes you.”

Sakuma’s head snaps back up. “What?”

“As more than a friend.” the brunette says. He waves a hand back into the house. “I doubt he would have come if it wasn’t for you. It’s not as if he’s particularly fond of me, or Genda, really. Or anyone. So he had to have come for you. And it must hurt, I think, to see you and me together when he knows he’s… a replacement.”

Sakuma closes his eye. 

“Jirou,” Kidou’s hand rests, warm and firm, on his shoulder. “I don’t think you love me.”

“I do love you!” Sakuma blurts out, tired of keeping it in. “I’ve loved you ever since we were children, I—“

“Exactly.” His voice, like his hand, was firm. A heavy weight. “I don’t think you love me. I think you love the idea of me. Kidou Yuuto, your childhood protector and your captain. But we aren’t kids anymore, or your captain. I’m your coworker. Your friend.”

Sakuma’s eye, gold and wet, meets Kidou’s eyes, brown and warm.

“I talked to Genda. Four years, right?” He smiles. “You should go talk to Fudou.”

—

Sakuma finds Fudou hunched over the toilet. 

“You drank too much,” he tells him, fishing two ibuprofen out of the medicine cabinet. 

“Bullshit.” Fudou grumbles, though the way his voice echoes around the porcelain bowl dilutes his point. “I hold my liquor like a fuckin’ champ.”

Sakuma tries to be angry, but he can’t compel himself to feel anything but sympathy, and a bit of pity. 

“Hey,” he says, hunching down. He presses his fingertips against the warm skin of Fudou’s back, where his shirt has ridden up. “We should go home.”

“…What about Kidou?” Fudou grumbles, turning his head just enough to meet Sakuma’s eye. “He’s still here.”

“So he is.” Sakuma shrugs. The stone in his stomach feels lighter, now. “And we’re at a party full of middle schoolers, so being drunk and puking isn’t a good idea.”

He presses a kiss to the back of Fudou’s neck. “I think I’ll move in.”

“Ew,” Fudou replies, closing his eyes. “Don’t kiss me while I’m barfing.”

“You aren’t actively barfing right this second. Stay here, I’m going to get you a glass of water.” Sakuma sets the ibuprofen tablets on the bathroom counter and stands, brushing off his knees. “I’ll pull the car around.”

“Fuck you,” Fudou grumbles, but he’s smiling. 

—

Sakuma meets Genda and Kazemaru on the way out, Fudou’s jacket over his arm.

“Worked it out?” Genda asks, and Kazemaru smiles knowingly, like he’s already all caught up on the drama. He probably is. “Are you in love or whatever now?”

“I think it goes without saying that I wouldn’t subject myself to this kind of scrutiny,” Sakuma lifts the jacket, which is an ugly brown color and stained on the cuffs. “if I didn’t really… like… a person. Let me know if I should do a little dance. Maybe I should just pop open a vein, and that would satisfy your demand for overly sentimental.”

“Jesus, Sakuma,” Kazemaru says, and downs his glass of wine.  “Well, I think it’s beautiful.” Genda says, and winks at Sakuma. “Have fun.”

Miyabino meets Sakuma on the way out with a box of leftovers and a smile.

“Good luck tonight!” he chirps, and Sakuma makes a face. Middle schoolers are more observant than he ever likes to think. 

—

The next week is uneventful, although Fudou seems…. well, snippier than usual. Probably, Sakuma figures, because he misses sleeping in past six. In their day-to-day operation, Fudou pretty much lounges around and watches TV. But today there is nothing on, and Sakuma is making him help unpack his clothes.  
 “Why do you have so many clothes?” Fudou grumbles, throwing a purple cardigan aside. Sakuma sniffs and picks it up, folding it and putting it into their new drawer set. “There’s no point in me helping. Just do what I do and throw them in the closet or whatever.”

“Really,” Sakuma replies, not particularly impressed. 

“I mean, what if there’s a movie on right now? War of the Worlds. That’s a good one.”

“Uh huh.”

“So, I should leave,” he concludes.

“You think there’s no point helping, do you?”

“Not really,” Fudou reaffirms.

“Not even just to keep me company?”

“Genda used to come in all the time by himself.”

“Well,” Sakuma corrects, “Not really. He has his girlfriend to hang out with.”

“It’s too bad you don’t have a girlfriend, Jirou.”

“Why would I ever want a girlfriend when I have Fudou Akio?”

Fudou scoffs at this and starts folding a pair of slacks.

**Author's Note:**

> Not too sure I'm happy with ending results. Comments are appreciated!


End file.
